Friends for a Lifetime
by C. Selene Belle
Summary: Big huge warning! It is fluff. Total fluff. I wrote it when I was 15. It's about Sam and Al dealing with Al's paralysis. They are very out of character, due to the fact that a 15 year old doesn't have good concept on how middle aged men behave.


A/N: Absolutely must warn you all that this was written when I was 15, at 3 in the morning on a school night. So . . . be gentle if you come to any conclusions about the style. Everything is written word for word, transcribed from an old hard copy. Still can't believe I found this thing...

Project Quantum Leap

Monday, June 4th, 2001

One year has passed since the incident with the crazy scientist took place. Donna was at her mother's with baby John. Sam was alone in his cubical for a week and Al was still trying to adjust to his non-disabled environment. It was hard for him but the three months of therapy he had the year before helped considerably.

He dressed while he sat on his bed, using techniques the therapist taught him. He decided to wear slate gray slacks, a blue shirt with a vest. The vest front was decorated with light blue, lavander, and indigo squares and stars on a dark blue background. He put on a pair of black casual shoes and transferred himself off the bed and into the Quickie wheelchair in front of him. His legs crossed while he did it. They always did because they were immobile. Like he did everyday for a year, Al used his arms to uncross his legs and carefully place his feet on the footplate of the wheelchair.

When he sat in the chair, his legs and feet were always together, so even when sitting he looked to be at attention. He rolled across the room towards his dresser. It was lower than the one he had before his accident but served the same purpose. Unlike his old dresser, this one had a mirror connected to it. He picked up a comb that lay on top of the dresser and started combing his silver threaded black hair neatly to one side. It only took a few strokes to get his hair the way he wanted it. Opening the top drawer, Al reached for his thickly padded gloves. The thin leather ones the rehab outfit gave him were no match for the long ramps at the project and he'd lost more than his fair share of skin trying to stop his chair. It took some experimenting, but he found weight lifters gloves protected him the best and looked pretty cool.

Next, he grabbed his wristlink. It was the handlink's baby brother which Al would usually take instead. But now, since he was always sitting down, it would be very uncomfortable to keep something the size of a portable video game in your pocket. Strapping on his wrist link and slipping on his gloves, Al headed out the front door and into the hall.

Sam managed to get himself out of bed, dressed, and out the door by the time he felt the beginnings of a cold reach his head. He went back to his cubical and into the bathroom to look for some Dayquil Caplets. When he found them, he took two but felt like he needed two dozen. Still, he decided he would feel better as soon as the medicine kicked into his bloodstream. With that in his conscious he once again left his cubical and walked towards the control room. He was strolling down the hall to the elevator when he saw Al rolling behind him.

"Hey, Sam! Wait up!" Al yelled as he started gaining more momentum to catch up. He slowed down and soon stopped by Sam's side, keeping his gloved hands on the wheels.

"Where're ya headed?" Al asked.

"The Control Room. I have to do some work with Ziggy." He started coughing a little.

"You don't sound too good, Sam. Maybe you should take a day off." Al suggested.

"I can't. It's just a little cough. I'll be fine." Sam choked. Al wasn't convinced. Sam's coughing finally subsided but if he sneezed even once, Al would make him go to bed until he felt better. For now, it didn't sound too serious so Al just let it pass.

"Okay, Sam."

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.

"Oh, me? I'm going to my office," He smirked, "As crazy as it may seem, I have paper work." He looked at Sam and saw that he didn't join in the humor.

"If you're going to your office, then why do you need to use the elevator? It's just down the hall." Al looked at him with a puzzled gaze.

"I just came to say hello." Al said in a bewildered tone.

"Oh. Well, hello." Sam said as the elevator doors opened. He went inside and waved, "Goodbye." as the doors closed again.

"Goodbye, Sam." Al whispered sadly. Sam has been acting the same way ever since Al got out of therapy, forever confined to a wheelchair. In fact, everyone has been acting like that. It's as if his change of appearance was so hideous that not even his best friend wants to talk to him. It made him feel hollow inside because he believed it. For a while anyway, until he realized he was still the same inside. He still felt that now ever-present void inside him because no one accepts him. Just to think about it frustrated him. He balled his left hand and made a fist. With all the fury he had in him, he hit his left thigh hard enough to make any man yelp in pain. Unlike any man, Al didn't feel a thing. And to his regret. Why can't they just work like they used to?

He started back down the hall, turned the corner and continued three doors down. When he opened the door to his office he found a surprisingly small pile of papers on his desk. All the better because he got to spend free time alone, like he has for the passed year. His violin case was sitting on the chair across the desk. He forgot it there from the day before and pondered the thought of playing something for his own entertainment after the pile of reports on his desk were looked over. That didn't take very long either. They were simply reports on the projects current progress in programming.

Al set all the papers in the out box and reached for the violin. He opened the case and found the instrument neatly packed in its place. He made a space between him and his desk, set his chin on the chinrest and started to glide the horsehair bow gently across the violin strings. He began to play the solo in Violin Concerto no. 5 by Mozart. Just like Sam had his piano, Al had his violin. Little by little he learned how to play bu not in classes. It started with a friend showing him the violin for the first time in the Navy. After that it fluctuated from different people showing him a couple things to observing and listening to other people play. Turned out he had quite an ear for music. He just never told anyone. Not even Sam knew about his secret.

He was just getting to the middle of the solo until Ziggy interrupted him.

"Admiral."

"What is it, Ziggy?" He questioned.

"Dr. Beckett has just collapsed onto the Control Room floor." Al's head snapped back to look at the ceiling.

"What? What do you mean he 'collapsed'?" Al asked as he set his instrument down and headed for the door.

"A better description would be he fainted."

"Oh, God. Where is he?"

"He shouldn't be hard to miss, Admiral. He was going to enter the Accelerator Chamber when he suddenly lost consciousness." By now, Al was in the elevator descending to the tenth level Control Room. Ziggy's voice followed him through his wristlink. He panicked when he heard Sam was about to go into the Accelerator Chamber and hope to God he wasn't going to pull another crazy stunt like that.

As soon as the doors reopened Al sped down the hall and up to the Control Room door. The metallic door automatically slid open and Al raced inside. He made a sharp turn to the right and saw Sam sprawled out on the floor right in front of the Accelerator's entrance.

He hurried next to Sam's prone form and bent over, reaching for his friend but his wheelchair got in the way of contact.

"Damn it!" Al cursed and began to quickly moved his feet out of the way of impact.

"Admiral, I suggest you remain in your wheelchair or you will not be able to get back into it without assistance." Ziggy warned.

"Shut up!" Al yelled at the ceiling. He moved off the seat and landed hard onto his rear end, knocking his wheelchair halfway across the room. He didn't care. He moved closer to Sam and felt his neck for a pulse. He was alive.

"Ziggy, did anything fall on him? Is he hurt? What happened?"

"I do not know, Admiral. He was complaining about dizziness earlier."

"Did you contact anyone else other than me?"

"Yes, Admiral. I contacted Dr. Verbena Beeks."

"Dr. Beeks? She's a psychiatrist not a medical doctor. Why didn't you contact the medical team?"

"I didn't think it was necessary if there wasn't anything physically wrong with Dr. Beckett. After all, he only fainted." Al ignored what the hybrid computer had just said and started concentrating on Sam.

"Sam? Buddy, can you hear me?" Al asked but no response came from the good doctor. Verbena came through the door like a hurricane and rushed to Sam's side as well. She looked at Al in surprise.

"Al, what the hell are you doing on the floor?" She asked.

"Well, I . . ." Al started but was interrupted when Sam started to moan. His eyes fluttered open as they tried focusing on his surroundings. Verbena put her hand on his forehead to check his temperature.

"Honesty, you're so hot you can fry an egg on your forehead. In other words, you're burning up with a fever."

"What happened?" Sam asked groggily.

"You fainted." Al replied simply, beginning to feel foolish for falling onto the floor. Sam focused on Al and saw what was wrong with the picture.

"What the hell are you doing on the floor?" Annoyed with the same repeated question, Al protested.

"How else was I going to see if you were dead or not?"

"I'm not dead." Sam said.

"What **are** you doing on the floor?" Verbena asked, "You know very well you can't get up." Al hated everybody reminding him about what he can't do but didn't say anything this time. Sam slowly started to sit up and with Verbena's help, stand up, leaving Al still sitting, almost lying on the floor.

"Are you okay?" Verbena asked Sam, forgetting about Al.

"I think so." Sam replied.

"Well, now that I know that it was a false alarm would either of you mind getting my chair back over here?" Al asked.

"I'll get it." Verbena said. Sam went back to Al.

"Sam, what're you doing?"Al asked in a jaunty tone but before he knew it Sam scooped him up in his arms like a child.

"Sam! Sam, put me down! Art you nuts! Put me down!" Al demanded. If he could thrash his legs he would have. Verbena came over with the chair and Sam carefully set Al in the seat. Al immediately straightened himself out, absolutely outraged by what Sam just did.

"Samuel John Beckett, that was completely uncalled for!" Al yelled.

"What did I do? I just helped you back in your chair." Sam replied in a lighthearted, lightheaded manner.

"That's what you did." He said and pushed towards the door.

"Al, wait!" Sam called before Al got to the door. He spun around and waited for what ever the physicist was going to say but took his silence as his answer.

"Leave me alone!" Al growled and left Verbena Beeks and Sam Beckett with confusion plastered on their faces.

"What was that all about?" Verbena asked.

"I don't know but whatever it was sure ticked him off. He never uses my full name unless he were furious with me."

"Yeah. Well, you shouldn't have picked him up like that."

"I'm beginning to see that."

"If you're having dizzy spells then you could have dropped him and he might've ended up with another spinal cord injury." Sam snapped a gaze at her.

"That's not funny! Don't you ever say that again!" He barked. He doubled over as a wave of nausea clenched his gut but didn't make it to the red zone and Verbena transformed into a mother figure.

"C'mon, hon. We gotta get you to bed."

Verbena led Sam back to his cubical, back to his bed and did a complete examination on him. Sam kept saying it was just a cold but that didn't stop her from putting the thermometer in his mouth.

"It's just a cold." Sam said around the instrument.

"I'd say more like the flu, sweetie. And don't talk with your mouth full." She humorously scolded. She took out the thermometer from his mouth and read, "A hundred two. No wonder you were dizzy." She went into the bathroom and returned to the bedroom with some flu caplets and a glass of water. Sam sat up as she handed him the medicine.

"You take these, you hear? I have to go back to work but I'll be back to check on you in a few hours." Sam nodded and took the medication.

"Good boy!" She praised and left him alone to rest. But he wasn't going to sleep until things were straightened out with Al. He figured he would be in his office. And if he wasn't there Sam would try his room. He picked up the phone and dialed Al's office extension. It rang a couple times but his computer answering machine picked up. He hung up and tried Al's cubical extension. It started ringing and by the third ring his call was answered.

"Yeah, hello?" Came a tired and hurt voice from the other end. Just hearing it that way made Sam a thousand times sorry.

"Al? Please, don't hang up." Sam pleaded, "Whatever I did I'm sorry."

"Whatever you did? You mean, you don't even know?" Sam found it hard to swallow. He didn't know he hurt his friend this much.

"I guess not. Maybe you can come over and we can talk it out." He tried. Al sighed.

"Where are you?" He asked, giving it a chance. He obviously wasn't going to let his friendship with Sam fizzle out of existence.

"I'm in bed with the flue. Would you mind keeping me company?"

"Not at all. I'll be there in two minutes."

Just like he said, Al arrived at Sam's cubical in precisely two minutes and forty three seconds. He rolled into his bedroom and almost didn't fit through the door. Sam apologized for his unmodified doorway but Al dismissed the idea completely. He was carrying his violin case on his lap. He thought he might reveal his secret to Sam once and for all.

"What's the violin for?" Sam asked.

"I'll tell you later. I came here to talk and listen as well, okay?" Sam nodded.

"Okay. Now the reason I got so mad at you is because you don't understand me and the way I am now."

"I'm a doctor. I fully understand the way you are. You're . . ." But Sam stopped himself from making another bad choice.

"Thanks for clearing that up." Al said, irritated. "This past year has been real hard for me. You of all people should know that. Sam, I know I never said this to you before but . . . You're my best friend. Do you know what it feels like to be constantly avoided by the only person you consider family?" Sam hung his head in shame. He didn't know what he was doing to Al, his buddy, his best friend, his family.

"Kid, you know I would never jump on you unless it were for a damn good reason. I'm sorry I said your full name like I did but I was really upset." Sam's head came back up.

"Why?" He asked.

"Well, because . . . you gotta understand that I'm not as helpless as you may think. And I think Ziggy should know that too." He looked up at the ceiling but there came no response.

"I know you're not helpless but you were on the floor." Sam protested, "What was I supposed to do? Leave you there?"

"I asked for my chair back, didn't I? That would have been enough. I would've gotten it back and I would've just climbed into it again. Maybe with a little help. You completely picked me up off the floor and put me into my chair as if I were a doll going into a stroller."

"I didn't know you felt like that, Al. Now that I know what the charge was, I'm starting to feel guilty for my ignorance. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Of course, I forgive you. Look, I was angry. I'm sorry to. I understand you were just trying to help me. Sam, people make mistakes every so often. If you didn't make mistakes then how would you lean from them?" Sam looked at his friend through a teary-eyed gaze. Al was no longer mad at Sam. He was rather helping him better comprehend what he is and is not capable of.

"I love you, Al." Sam choked.

"Aw, Sam." Al snickered. Sam leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his buddy, hugging him for all he was worth. At first, Al tried to pull away but soon did the same, embracing his ill companion who was worth more to him than all the gold in the world.

Sam reluctantly let Al go and leaned back on the pillows piled up behind him.

"I never realized how brave you are." He said.

"Me? Brave?"

"It takes a lot of courage to go through what you've been through." Sam commented.

"That means a lot to me, Sam. But I didn't go through it alone. You were there when I needed you."

"What did I do? I avoided you for a year, Al. That wasn't right at all."

"It happens to the best of friends. But I'm talking about the rehab center. Remember those parallel bars? I showed you how I improved? I walked two steps but I got tired and I wanted to sit down. You didn't let me." He grinned, "You made me walk one more step before I gave up."

"What good did it do? If it weren't for me you would still be walking in the first place."

"It wasn't your fault. And what good did it do? It did plenty of good. I don't know what I would've done if you weren't by my side." Sam rested his hand on his stomach and exhaled slowly.

"What's wrong? All the mush getting to ya?"

"No, my stomach is." He quickly scrambled out from beneath the covers, "Out of the way."

Al got out of the way of Sam's path to the bathroom. He shut the door behind him. Al winced at the revolting sound of regurgitation coming from behind the closed door. Thankfully, that was over with soon and he heard the sound of running water from the bathroom sink. Sam came back out of the bathroom and unsteadily made his way back to bed.

"God, I hate the flue." Sam sighed, getting back under the sheets.

"I know, kid. It can be a real drag." But Sam didn't want to talk about his health so he changed the subject.

"Al?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"What does it feel like? I mean, I know . . . I'm a doctor and everything but . . ."

". . . But you want to know other that what the facts tell you." Al finished. Reluctantly, Sam nodded.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." He offered.

"No, it's okay. Uh, for starters, it's really scary. Even if I'm sitting I feel as if I'm gonna fall. But you get used to it after a while. Why do you want to know?"

"I'm just curious."

"Ah, but as they say 'Curiosity killed the cat'."

"Don't worry. If my curiosity kills me I'll have at least eight lives left."

"That's a good one, Sam." Al chuckled.

"Yeah, well, I guess you're eccentric personality rubbed off on me."

"Let's be thankful for that. I remember when you were so boring I didn't know what to do with you." He thought a moment and added softly, "But after you started leaping, I realized that I could've lost you. At times I almost did."

"I don't . . . remember the Leaps. What happened?"

"Oh, it's not important." Al waved off.

Sam let the rest of the day slip by with Al's company, cherishing every moment. They spent the entire rest of the day together. They talked. They even laughed, which they hadn't done for almost a year. They shared more stories than anyone else would even care to listen to. When noon came Al made lunch; chicken noodle soup for Sam and microwave pasta for himself. Unfortunately, when it came to the soup Al needed Sam to carry it into the bedroom. Sam didn't object to the thought at all. He was glad to be of service.

When nightfall came Sam had gotten too curious about the violin.

"So, why'd you bring the violin?" Sam questioned once more.

"Oh. I thought you might want to hear me play it." Al smiled, also something he hadn't done for a while.

"You play the violin?"

"Yeah, and you wanna hear the best part? I'm good at it too."  
"Prove it! Play something."

"No problem." He reached down by his wheel and grabbed the case's handle. He picked it up, set it down on his lap, popped open the lid and brought out his toys. He closed and set the case back down on the carpet. He put the chin on the chin rest and asked, "Ready?"

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world." Sam said, watching with an intense glare at the violin in Al's hand. His eyes widened with amazement as he witnessed Al playing the ever-complicated Flight of the Bumble Bee on the violin, his own violin. When he was done with the piece, the song played so beautifully that Sam applauded him. Al was panted but he took a bow anyway. Teasingly, Sam added, "Encore! Encore!"

"You gotta be kidding." Al panted.

"I'm serious, Al. That was beautiful. I never knew you had such talent."

"Surprise!" Al said, regaining his breath. He looked at his watch which read seven thirty. But that didn't seem right. He put the watch up to his ear. There was no ticking so he looked at the digital clock by Sam's bed.

"Aw, Christ! Verbena's gonna fry me for this one."

"What? Why?" Sam asked.

"She told me you had to be asleep by eight. It's a quarter to ten! It is way passed your bedtime, kid." Sam grinned.

"Aw, dad! Do I have to?" He teased.

"Very funny, Sam. No, c'mon. You have to go to sleep so you can get your strength back."

"Okay, okay." Sam said, stripping the pillows from behind him until only one was left. "But before I depart for slumber land there's something on the desk I want you to read." Al obliged and went over to the desk across the room. The only item on the desk's surface was a single notepad with scribbled words on it. When he picked it up, a loose sheet of paper flew out of the pad and onto his lap, face up. He set the notepad back on the desk, took the paper and rolled by Sam's side, showing it to him.

"Is this it?" He asked.

"Yeah, read it to me."

"Okay. Here it goes." He cleared his throat and read, "The Gift of Friendship:

Friendship is a priceless gift

That cannot be bought or sold

But its value is far greater

Than a mountain made of gold

For gold is cold and lifeless

It can neither see nor hear

And in the time of trouble

It is powerless to cheer

It has no ears to listen

No heart to understand

It cannot bring you comfort

Or reach out a helping hand

So when you ask God for a Gift

Be thankful if he sends

Not diamonds, pearls, or riches

But the love of real, true friends."

He looked back at his young friend but found that he had fallen asleep. He glanced back at the sheet to see who wrote the poem. It was by Sam Beckett himself. Al turned the sheet over. There were more words scribbled on it. An overwhelming warmth flooded into his heart when he read "To Al. From Sam." written on the back of the poem.

"Oh, Sam." Al breathed with a grin.

Neatly folding the precious treasure, he kept it in his violin case, turned off the light manually and went out the door to Sam's living room. Before closing the door behind him he whispered, "Pleasant dreams, pal." He then headed back to his own cubical, his own bed.


End file.
